


Have a Choke and a Smile

by larvae



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Asphyxiation, Breathplay, Canon Rewrite, Choking, Drabble, Force Choke, Force Choking, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Oneshot, POV Minor Character, PWP, Power Play, Stream of Consciousness, Vignette, authority kink, force choke me daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8938180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larvae/pseuds/larvae
Summary: A purple prose play by play of Krennic's visit to Vader's deathcastle fuckdome.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For a friend, merry Christmas. <3

Alright so maybe that had sounded a little… desperate. He hadn’t intended it to, but the edge had crept into his voice regardless, a sickly sweet coil of fear and indignation that coated the words in its brine. _Will I still be in charge of the Death Star?_

Vader stopped walking, all eight something feet of him grinding to a halt in the middle of the bridge. Krennic could hardly turn to face him, even the inky breadth of his back was too much to look at directly. Though his eyes had been the real issue throughout their brief interaction. Black, empty, bottomless. Just like the rest of him. Like a hole torn through space, this man- this thing, had swallowed galaxies. Krennic stood in a half turn for a moment, trying to decide if he should figure out a clarifying statement or if perhaps it was more professional to spin all the way ‘round. His bureaucratic worry was cut short.

The sensation came to him softly at first, like the first irritating sign of a cold in the middle of a work day. A dry throat he couldn’t quite swallow away; it turned the passing thought of ice water into a reverie.

Worry crept in before there was just cause for it, adding a razor’s edge to the blunt force that slithered its way around his neck, beneath the high white collar of his military jacket, flush against his skin. He slipped a finger under his collar to worry it away from his neck, but the sensation stayed as it was. Tight, growing tighter. Firm and spread broadly. Strong and becoming - as the seconds ticked away - relentless. The commander crumpled, his knees meeting the floor before he could fully register that they’d given way. That hurt as well. He’d given up on turning.

Premature worry turned to justified fear as his airways constricted, his heart racing to keep up with his rising panic. His body responded against his will and his better judgement of the danger he was in, and Krennic sank back lower onto his thighs to hide his erection. This wasn’t like that. This wasn’t fun. This was a display of power and rage that he may never live to tell of. This pep talk wasn’t having the desired effect.

Krennic’s right hand grasped at his chest, gathering his cloak closer around him, hiding his shame and scratching hopelessly against the pressure building in his lungs. It didn’t hurt yet. He was certain it wouldn’t for another moment or so. This was fear, nothing more, protruding like an iceberg from his sternum, plunging deep into his core.

Both of Krennic’s hands shot up to claw at his neck and fumble uselessly at the top button of his collar. The phantom noose tightened relentlessly. His nails found only his own skin to dig into, veins beginning to stand out against it, cold sweat beginning to bead. There was a moment, just before he crumpled down onto all fours to press his forehead to the cool metal floor, when his oxygen starved brain traveled to kinder places. He’d been pinned before of course, steady crushing weight against his chest, hands pressed in a careful diamond against his sternum; experiences punctuated by heat and warmth, skin and breath. Had his vision gone dark, like this? the last time? He couldn’t quite recall, it was getting harder to focus on the question. The darkness had seemed kinder, then, gentler. It had poured sweet and black into his vision like coffee liqueur, just enough to nearly pull him under before he gave the word and it was chased away. Like moths fleeing a porch light. And there’d been a smile to greet him at the other end of the tunnel he’d started down. 

Now, there was the floor. Cold steel suspended above a molten river. He thought about how both of those things could swallow him whole. Twin extensions of their master, an empty crushing spot in the universe that Commander Krennic, former project leader of the greatest weapon of mass destruction ever known to man or beast, had fallen into and disappeared. He could almost feel himself going, his body seeming to vanish along with his vision, the dark edges being where his atoms had already been scattered to serve other purposes.

Krennic wanted desperately to cough, to clear the thing in his airway, to gasp. He couldn’t, the grip around his neck was too tight for that now. Drool ran out of his mouth over his swollen bottom lip. He was hyperaware of his heartbeat, blood pumping in waves of heat across his face. He must have looked a fool.

He wished, for a brief, indulgent moment, that his uninspired death throes could be carried out while resting beside Darth Vader’s boots, drooling dumbly near them until one grew tired and caved his face in. He wished to be closer to his executioner. He wished to matter. He’d been so close, in his strategic, military life. He’d seen greatness but never tasted it. To be crushed like a bug by a superior officer was, if Krennic was honest with himself, what he’d been built for. You fight and you claw and you delegate for forty cushy, authoritative years, and then your death comes to you blunt and ugly like a pin through the neck of a mounted insect. Except he wouldn’t even be kept for display. He’d be remembered as incompetent, if he was at all.

Then, with none of the subtlety of its entrance, the sensation left him, not so much withdrawing as disappearing, just as his whole body had threatened to do. Krennic gasped and sputtered, hacking wet pathetic sounds into the puddle he’d managed to create under his face.

“Careful not to choke, on your aspirations, commander,” echoed out across the bridge as Vader walked away. The whole experience must have been less than five seconds, ricocheting against death’s door to land back against the living on your knees. There hadn’t been lights and sound effects, only a hangman’s erection and an oddly peaceful acceptance of his own insignificance.

Krennic lifted his head just as Vader disappeared at the end of the walkway. He cleared his throat and rubbed at his aching neck. He glanced down at the damning wet spot on the otherwise immaculately white leg of his flared hip breeches. He struggled to his feet, buttoned his cape closed around his chest, rolled his neck, and followed Vader’s path down the same walkway he’d nearly died on.

**Author's Note:**

> Good morning Star Wars fandom welcome to my fuckhouse. Next up's Bodhi x That Tentacle Lie Detector Thing.


End file.
